"Can you tell us what happened?"
"They were going to stone my lady to death. With little small stones. Oh, terrible. Then came the report on the television—praise God! The king Tallulah's minister became fearful and said, 'Oh, t
his will make a terrible, terri
ble impression on the royal image! We must wait and kill her when no one is paying attention.' So they came with big needles filled with drugs and stuck
her, Like this." Abdul jabbed hi
s arm. "And took her to a plane to Paris."
"How do you know all this?"
"I was there! I saw. With my own two eyes, praise God that I am allowed to keep them. There was a French person." "What French person?"
"Oh, very French. An old French person with gray hair. He has been in the palace here many times. The royals listen to him all the time. They think everything French is good. He tells them what to do, and they do it. He tells them, 'Bring her to Paris, we will make it look like a shopping trip.'"
"So you're saving the television images of the pr
incess shopping, they were all f
ixed to make it look like she's in no danger?"
"Yes, but she is in great danger! Still! When no one is paying attention, they will kill her. My poor lady!"
"Abdul, thank you for telling us this. You are very courageous to come forward. One final question: You say the French have a lot of influence with the Wasabi royals?"
"Yes. Many times I have listened to the princes and the king on the telephone, many times with the Fren
ch saying, 'You must help us get
back the coastline that the English villain Churchill took from us. We will give you oil and navy bases.' Many times I have heard these conversations. Many, many times."
"Thank you. God keep y
ou safe. When we return, we'll have a report from our correspondent in Paris."
Florence sat back in her chair in the control room. Too bad Renard hadn't been here to watch it with her. She felt certain he would have been proud of her. She was particularly pleased with the French element.
Laila rang. "Wow. How on earth did yo
u find Abdul? What a coup." "H
e works in the cafeteria here," Florence said.
"Aha." There was a pause. "Well,
that
will win us an Emmy
for hard investigative news. I
think I won't share that part with the New Saladin. Oh, it's coming back on. I don't want to miss a word. I'll call you at the commercial."
"Welcome back to TV
Matar News, I'm Fatima Sham. We now bring you this exclusive report from Rita Ferreira, our Paris bureau correspondent."
"Yes,
Fatima, I'm standing outside the gales of the Onzieme Bureau, a little-known branch of the French intelligence service. We tried to speak to officials here about a
report
that they have been tunneling money secretly to
Matar's mullahs, in an attempt t
o start a coup in the tranquil Gulf nation and replace its benevolent and popular ruler, the emir Gazzir Bin
H
az, with a fundamentalist Islamic dictatorship."
The scr
een showed the reporter trying t
o thrust a microphone through the window of a dark sedan driving out the gate.
"TV
Matar, hello!
Bonjour!
Is it true that you are trying t
o start a revolution in
Matar
?"
The car kept going. The screen showed two gendarmes approaching, waving the camera away.
"Allez! Al
lez!"
"We are with TV
Matar,
here to ask questions." "No. You must go. Go. Go now."
"But we want to speak with someone from the Onzieme Bureau, to ask about their plans to destabilize our country." "You must ask to the foreign Bureau.
Allez!"
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
“I
think,''
L
aila said over
the
phone, "that you'd better get
over here to the
palace. The French ambassador has requested an audience. The New Saladin's spine could use some stiffening. It's the
only
part of him that isn't normally stiff. I'll send a car."
Florence was driven through the tranquil, baking streets of Amo-Amas to the palace. She walked on lapis-lazuli-flecked tiles past cool alabaster fountains and shaded terraces and mosaic corridors, past bodyguards in ceremonial dress, and into the emir's audience room, where the Lion of
Matar
awaited. The Lion was frowning.
"Well,
Miss Intrigue," he said, "you've made me very popular. Everyone wants a meeting with me suddenly. The French ambassador, the Wasabi ambassador. Your American ambassador. Even the Russian ambassador. What can he want. I wonder? I should just invite them all at once. It's been a long time since we've held a grand diplomatic audience. I don't know whether to t
hank you or have you deported. I
could just have you escorted to the Wasabi border and tossed across. I'm sure King Tallu
lah would be delighted to have y
ou as
his
guest"
"I regret having caused I lis Majesty" such consternation." "Oh, pish. Now, what's this about the French buying my mullahs? Is this true?"
"Yes."
"And how do you know this arresting fact?"
"I'm in the news-gathering business."
"Are you with the CIA? I want an honest answer now."
"Not that I am aware, my lord."
The emir stared. "What do you mean, not that you're aware? What kind of answer is that?"
"A vague, honest answer. There was a man. but he's vanished. So now it would seem that I'm an employee of TV
Matar. Which is to say, I work for you."
"Stop thr
owing sand in my eyes. This man,
who is he?"
"I was never sure. He represented himself as being with the United States government. He was possessed of great resources, certainly. Enough to make all this possible. The initial funding, the gift of Your Majesty's helicopter..."
"I want an answer!"
"Darling." Laila said, "calm yourself. You'll give yourself a rash. Florenc
e is trying to explain. Though I
must admit I'm confused, too, at this point. But TV
Matar is fully independent.
You
own it, darling. Morever, you're doing very, very well by it. You're now the largest broadcaster in the Arab world."
"Yes yes yes, but was this
funded by American intelligence?"
"Darling," Laila said, "if it had been, do you really think it would have worked this well?"
"Good point," Florence murmured.
"I don't know that it's turned out 'well,'" the emir said. "And don't try to deceive me with your honey tongues. I want to know—right now, this instant—
was this an American operation?"
"Yes," Florence said. "I
regret deceiving
you. But I
do not regret what we've done."
The emir looked from
Florence to his wife. "Did you
know about this?"
"No," Florence interj
ected. "I deceived Laila, too. I
deceived you both."
The emir sat back in his divan seat and tapped his purplish lips wit
h a fingertip. "Then I
have no choice. There will have to be an arrest. And a trial, and then... Look at the position you've put me in. I hardly have a choice."
"Darling." Laila said, "let's think this through before we do anything hasty. Florence has adm
itted t
o working for some esoteric division of the U.S. government. But TV
Matar is entirely controlled by us. And it's made Matar. and you, a voice on the world stage. We're a long way from fig oil and the Churchill tax.
"And now Florence and her curious mice seem to have exposed a French plot to replace you on the throne with your odious little brother.
So she's made you independently
rich and important, and is trying to keep you on that throne. And you want to arrest her. You do what you think is right, but if you insist on this idi
otic course of action, all you'll be saying to the whole world is "Gosh, wasn't I
a booby! This American woman managed to pull the wool completely over my eyes!' So much for the New Saladin. But it's up to you, darling."
The emir rubbed his forehead.
Laila glanced ov
er at Florence. "'Are you still
a U.S. agent?" she asked. Florence imagined she was giving a press briefing at the
State
Department.
I
have
nothing for you on
that
at this lime.
"Florence?"
"No. No, I don't think I am at this point."
Laila turned to the emir. "There. So why the fuss?"
The emir regarded the two women standing in front of him warily. "If I find," he said, "that you two were in collusion, there will be consequences. Severe consequences."
"Shouldn't we give some thought to what yo
u're going to tell Monsieur Valm
ar?"
In due course, the French ambassador was announced. Laila and Florence withdrew through a separate door before he was ushered in.
"You might have given me some warning that you were about to admit to being an American spy," Laila said crossly.
"Not a spy, Laila. I was never that."
"Whatever. The situation seems stabilized for the time being. But
an revoir.
Switzerland of the Gulf."
"Yes." Florence said. "It's starting to feel more like the Middle Last."
FLORENCE RETURNED TO TV
MATAR. Her
cell phone rang. She picked up,
frowned; rec
ognizing the voice. "What do you
want?" she said.
"That's not a very friendly hello." Uncle Sam said. "I've been trying frantically to get you."
"Really? How odd. I called you several limes and got a nonworking number. I had the distinct feeling that I'd been thrown overboard." "These phones. They drive me cuckoo." "Oh, please. What do you want? I'm very busy." "We need to talk, Florence." "Talk."
"In person. I'm sending the plane. Again. I can have it there in two hours. This isn't a request, young lady."
"I don't work for you anymore." She heard a sigh. "I'll send you a formal letter of resignation, if you prefer. I told them all about you."
"Told who about me?"
"The emir. Laila. It felt wonderful."
"Oh, goodness, Florence.
Why
would you do such a thing?"
"I got tired of lying. Sorry."
"You've got cl
ientitis. Look, it happens. Practically every ambassador we send overseas, they end up lobbying for the country instead of the U.S. Fortunately, there's a cure."
"Oh? What?"
"You get on a plane and come
home.
And by the second day, you wake up and it all seems like a dream."
"I'll come home when I'm finished here."
"You
are
finished there. What do I have to do—send in Delta Force to get you? Don't think I won't. Florence,
don't make me come down there."
"Goodbye, Sam. Thank you for everything." "Is it the sheika?" "What do you mean?"
"These rumors—arc they true? Are you, how to put it, having a
thing
with the sheika?"
"This is absurd."
"We're picking up a
lot
of chatter about this, Florence. It's very dangerous for you. You know how Arabs can be. The whole manhood thing." "Unlike us, say?"
"You know perfectly well what I'm saving. We have to get you out of there. I mean
now."
"Rely not on women. Trust not to their hearts. Whose joys and whose sorrows Are hung to their parts."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's a verse from
The Arabian Nights.
Look, I made a promise to stay, to see this through."
"Promise? Promise to whom?" "To my lesbian girlfriend.
Laila
." "Florence—" "Goodbye, Sam."
Florence fell a sense of weightlessness after ending the call. She stared at the cell pho
ne, the one Bobby had given her,
her link to her now former employers, still warm from Uncle Sam's spluttering. It rang again. She was about to press
talk
, but then paused. She knew that cell phones were a popular means of assassination in the Middle East. The Israelis had pioneered it. A few grams of
C4
plastic explosive packed into the earpiece.